Monday, July 31, 2006


DisequiliriBUM (B*tt cheeks UnMatched)
The law of equilibrium states that “things have a way of balancing out over time.”
The law of disequiliribum states that “disproportional b*tt cheeks lead to discomfort and side-sliding in sitting; additionally, they skew the effect of swallowing by a factor theta

Preamble - Wallowing in Swallowing
Let’s begin with the premise that a boxer short normally worn results in two adjacent square shapes covering the posterior cheeks.

  • Now, when you have a wholesale swallow, the rear cover is sucked in between the cheeks resulting in a T shape marking cheek demarcation (Vertical) and round-the-waist elastic (Horizontal). In ladies fashion this is called a thong. Theta is 100% as a measure of cloth cover that has vanished.
  • In a partial swallow, the two square covers are converted, by suction pressure, into a pair of downward facing right-angled triangles subdivided by the vertical cheek demarcation. Looked at from a distance, the combination looks like a downward facing isosceles triangle. Theta is 50% as a measure of cloth cover that has vanished.
  • In a nibble (a la Nick), suction pressure is not strong enough or cheek protrusion is not sizeable. The two squares maintain relatively the same shape by there is a slight dent between them where a portion of cloth cover vanished. Theta is 5%.
Amble - Poor Fulo
Fulo* was born with a posterior defect that rendered the outer circumference of one b*tt cheek disproportionately larger than its twin/sibling/cheekmate… Let’s just say that one of the cheeks was Ugandan (turgid/mahaga) and the other was Japanese (flaccid/ma-flat-nesses). For Fulo, right circumference was/is greater than left; the surface area canvassed by the cover of the underwear on the right was far more than that on the left… It caused and continues to cause him loads of problems:

  • Plasma screen. Watching TV was an issue as Fulo would tend to find himself angled obtuse (right side) and acute (left side) to perpendicular. Methods used to prop up an unsteady table i.e. placing a bottle top or folded paper under the shorter leg, were necessary to restore proportional normalcy to his sitting up straight. Fulo used a pillow or paper-filled wallet against the left cheek to good measure. It was not uncommon to find Fulo sleeping on his left side despite starting his sleep lying square on his back. Gravity, centrifuge and flowing with the current, favoured motion towards the left.
  • Sucked right in. Fortunately for Fulo, he did not suffer from swallow-wholesales (see above) or swallow-partials (see previous about seeing above)… Unfortunately he was subject to nibbles (see previous about seeing previous to see above)…
  • Potting in pool. As Fulo would bend over to take a shot in pool, there were oooohs and ahhhhhs from admiring female spectators to his right. Sadly however, there were uurrghs and woiyes from the female spectators to his left
  • Sagging his jeans. Fulo always wanted to be with the in-crowd. Part of this involved sagging of jeans. Now this presents a problem because the wallet wonderbum effect (similar to wonderbra's titivating(no pun) effect) is rendered moot if wallet-bearing pocket is lowered via sagging… Additionally, the butt-support to prevent sagging from being a jeans-around-ankle style was lacking to the left hence Fulo’s jeans would be skewed to the left revealing a portion of backside conspicuous by its absence.
  • High waist lingala dancing. Then there was the Koffi Olomide, Papa Wemba, Diblo Dibala era. High-waists were in effect with accompanying box haircuts. In Fulo’s case, high-waisting resulted in two divergent posterior protrusions with the wallet effect appearing on his back (courtesy of elevated back pocket) and the right diab effect a number of inches lower… You should have seen the effect on his lingala dancing I tell you!!!
  • Caning in high school. Lets just say that the right bore the brunt to the headmaster’s fan belt caning amidst the headmster’s accompanying shouts of “Useless!! Kwenda!! Ghasia!!
Postamble – Cast of Characters
*Fulo aka I M Fuloshit alias Imran Mehta Fuloshit. This is an unfortunate, lecherous asian from Ngara that loves wearing shorts and is commonly referred to as I M Fuloshit in short(s).

Author’s note: Was going to get more descriptive about Fulo’s condition but I just noticed him walking into the room… There may be a show-down soon so I’ll stop my typing right here!!

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Where’s that d*mn JUALA?

Where’s that d*mn JUALA(Jaluo thot he was ndani bUt ALA!!)?

A good friend of mine, called Theopisti MacAgoy Jathurwa, happened to spot a certain damsel he had been eyeing for a while at a local nightspot the other day. Said damsel, though be-boyfriend-ed, had been giving him the signs for a while now (or so he thought).

“Which signs?” you may ask, to which I shall respond “Those signs – you know – those ones!!!” Anyway, if you don't know them, this is not about you but about Theopisti…

So Theopisti (let’s call him Theo coz my fingers are getting tired typing his name) embarks on the commonly used, still unpatented, male ritual of “Is there any more room for me in those jeans?”Akiey's patent pending… Specific applications, success rates and durations vary but the principle always remains the same:

Keep jeansbegone intentions hidden until they will be well-received, if not encouraged…

Step one – Captain Courageous
Theo beckons the waiter to angusha two more raos mfululizo and top it up with some sambuca. It’s not easy putting urself out there when sober just to be mowed down by her no/never/guffaw-of-disbelief/not-in-ur-wildest-dreams/talk-to-the-hand… Anyway, if you fail when tipsy/high you have the age old excuses of “I was drunk” or “she must be a lesbo”And additionally, you actually don’t give a d*mn anywayz…

Step two – Major Mona
Like a lamb to the slaughter - er.. I mean - like a panther on the prowl, Theo approaches his prey… Events of the past few days had contrived to work in Theo’s favour… Said damsel, lets call her Mona Lott Toonite (Mona), had been having domez with boyfi… And she just found out that he’d been cheating on her with her best friend, Mekhmi Kam… She decided to get back at him that very night!!!

She's been sitting at the bar by the dancefloor wiggling in her seat to Jerry Joe's:

Huu ni mwaka wa kusakata kata kata
Huu ni mwaka wa kuangusha ngusha mahewa

Step three – General Gugumizi
Theo approaches, Mona smiles… Theo looks back to see who she’s smiling at… Spotting no one, he surreptitiously checks if his fly is open. He also licks his teeth to ensure that there are food remnants on canine-incisors. Mona is still donning a welcome smile… Theo’s heart skips a beat… Mona utters an oh so s*xy, feminine, teasing “hi you” batting eye-lids like she’s trying to fan the room… Theo opens his mouth to speak but no words come out…

Anyway, lets just say Theo’s quarterly drinks’ budget is decimated that night on a drink Mona seems to love and Theo can’t pronounce… Theo then speculatively asks if Mona needs a ride home… Mona says she needs to go tell her friends that she’s leaving with him… “Yeah right” he thinks to himself and comforts himself in the thought that drinks are bad for the liver so it was about time he took a 3-month break…

As he starts towards the exit a gentle, smooth-skinned hand grabs his from behind. “Leaving without me?” Mona asks… “Ching-ching” Theo thinks to himself…

Step four – Sergeant Slobber
Throughout the drive Mona says little verbally, but her body language says a lot… When queried about where she’d like to be dropped she replies “my aunt won’t let me into the house at this hour. Is there anywhere else we can go for a few hours?” Theo suggests his place and instinctively ducks expecting a slap… “Fine” she says much to Theo’s surprise

The entry into Theo’s flat is as awkward as it is hurried… Nervous fingers fumbling with the pesky keys, furtive attempts to clear sitting room area of ngothas on seats and decaying foodstuffs on top of telly… The forward Mona decides to cut to the chase and expresses distress about a crick in her neck… Theo is on her like a ton of bricks, kneading shoulders like an overzealous masseuse called Olga…

Mona asks him to be gentle to which he acquiesces for a while… As she turns around she is hit smack in the face by Slobberdown Milosevic (no relation of Milo BTW)… Uncontrolled saliva-ridden lips are planted on cheeks, nose, forehead and chin… Hands grasp the thutha and begin squeezing and tugging in squeegee-like motion… He soon has her in a round-robin combination of headlocks, chin-locks and submission holds that the Nature Boy Ric Flair would have been very proud of!!!

This ruff treatment knocks the senses back into Mona… Being the quick thinker she is, she goes with the flow and asks: “Do you have it?” to which and over-excited Theo enquires: “It? What it?” slobber slobber
  • Mona: “Protection, we must use protection..” wipe face, wipe face…
  • Theo : “Aaah.. do we have to? We’re both clean ama?” slurp slurp
  • Mona: “No, no, no… We must some” wring blouse, wring blouse
  • Theo : “Ok, its in the room, lemme get it…”
Theo Ben-Johnsons into the room, scrimmages thru his drawers fervently searching for a juala taking the better part of 5 mins…

Lieutenant Lightning
He eventually emerges to find an empty couch, front-door ajar… Rushing to the door he spots a tiny dot in the horizon that was once Mona – she hoofed it out of there like a bolt of lightning stilettos in hand…

Theo returns to his room a beaten man. He switches on the radio just to catch Pilipili singing:

Ukimwona mwambie namtaka
Ukimwona mwambie namsaka
Ukimwona mwambie namhata
Bado ajue nampenda

As he prepares to lala njeve, "Where was the d*mn juala" is Theo’s lament…

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Vexing and Vicious Violence at VURAS pt II

Continuation from here...

I resent all suggestions and assumptions that Milo was the object of an a** whooping and blacked out during the encounter. I do believe that the training took over during the encounter and, being in that state of limbo where body, mind + chi are one, normal memories are not available within cerebrum.

Anyway, back to the story… where was I…

I remember said wathii attempting to attack Priti, I remember Zee and I rushing to join in the fray, I remember trying to unleash a Shaolin temple kick with accompanying “kiaiiiiii”, I remember nothing else…

Morning memories
Next thing I remember was the cool breeze of the morning wind outside Carni sobering me up… I found myself within the confines of the cloak-room between the drive-in entrance and exit, Zee by my side… Being 6 feet (4 minus 4)” and Zee being slightly taller than a hottentot pygmy, we were as innocuously unnoticeable as a Ugandan chick’s butt amongst Japanese ones or the pink lips on those Nubians in Asterix. Surprise of all surprises was that Priti Bwaai was not amongst the cloak-room tenants. Turns out that he’s pals with the bouncers hence they let him off with a stern-ish warning…

A** whopped my diabs
I had a sharp pain in my ribs which I attributed to the spoils of war during the preceding battle… I was later to find out that it was as a consequence of a poorly executed kick, that allowed Milo’s body to commune with the floor, having met full-force with plain air at a grand height of about 3 feet… Said body was ferried by oh-so gracious bouncers straight to the cloakroom, the excessive 70kgs of weight straining their well-built, well-exercised muscles…

Mojo from the dojo
Anyway, I still believe that the years training and meditation led to my complete annihilation of all opponents using the Drunken master technique. The rib injury could only have resulted from a strain during my execution of a battery of kicks interspersed with cart-wheels. If you don’t believe me, ask Ekipara. This bad-a** dude certified my hands and feet as lethal weapons after an encounter behind the playground swings, All Saints Cathedral nursery, late 70s, early 80s… I must have levitated from the confines of carnivore to the captivity of the cloak-room. There can (and will) be no other explanation…

The rest of the encounter entailed:
  • Free transport to Langata police station
  • Pleading, beseeching, apologies, cajoling
  • The usual parting between fools and their beks
  • Postponement of an certain early morning meeting due to “something urgent has come up” reasons

No more scoopers support for me, no more rasa rescues… My Shaolin techniques are an option of the last resort!!!

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Vexing and Vicious Violence in VURAS pt I

Vexing and Vicious Violence in VURAS (mvumilivu hula mbiVU – maRASa) pt I

The brilliant posts on night-life encounters doing the rounds in KBW (gishungwa and guess )brought back a flood of memories from my nights out in Nairobi...

Assess those assets
We, men-folk are notorious for tapping the tanye, dabbling with diabs and/or pinching the posterior when out in the club. Nowadays, chicks have also joined the butt brigade - you flaunt it, I feel it - and it’s not uncommon to experience a rear-side reaction to a feminine feel.

From a male perspective, one needs to be very discerning and cautious, as the advance may be taken well or badly, very badly. Let’s just say there are two major consequences to the butt attack:

  • Copious careless caresses (if you’re lucky) - Triple C
  • Embarrassing ejection from establishment (if you ain’t) - Triple E
The latter seems to out-populate the former 99:1 for the gents. Wonder what it is for the ladies, 1:99 perhaps??

Rocknite Rules
You are either part of:

  • the Kenya-Nite crew that is still undecided at midnight whether to rush to Carni, head home or stay put
  • the Already-in-Carni crew that have by now replaced the sweat of running to beat the 9 o’clock buzzer with sweat from dancing mzungu-style to that wonderful rock mix.
My pal Zee and I decided to rush to Carni from K-Nite despite my early morning meeting the next day (ooops - on that day). We arrived just to find our good pal Priti Bwaai buying liquor like Prohibition was going to hit KBL the next day.

All was well until he insisted… three hours later… as we were finally heading home… to buy us each a couple of parting shots. Chumvi kwa mkono, meza chumvi, bottoms up, ndimu, eishhhhh (y’all know that tequila drill).

Fist of Fury
A threesome of (slightly) tipsy buddies then began the staggering trek from Kichaka bar to the exit. Enroute, Priti spots this damsel and decides to tap… no, that does not describe it… grab… not yet, not descriptive enough.. scoop… yes, that’s it, scoop the chick’s posterior.

Yani, the guy okotad a bucketful of buttock, a truckload of tanye, a drum-full of diab!!! Unfortunately, Manzi wa Nairobi was not unaccompanied. She was with her possewathii wa mathree, wasee wa mtaa…

I remember said wathii attempting to attack Priti, I remember Zee and I rushing to join in the fray, I remember trying to unleash a Shaolin temple kick with accompanying “kiaiiiiii”, I remember nothing else…

To be continued…

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Hazards of being a BACHEL’R

Hazards of being a BACHEL’R (BilA CHakula on the rEguL’R)

This life of being a bachelor is ngumu sana, ngumu sana!! Proper food is as hard to come by as lack of motion on Kifaki’s lips. Lunch and supper are usually sawaz but the problem is breakfast! Joints are not open at that time my guy! You arrive at ofisi belly tupu… Mind you, tumbo is not amused... In fact, it usually decides to get its own back at you.

It waits for two occasions:

During a meeting - Discussions are underway, yadi yada, then there’s a moment’s silence. As if on cue there it goes: njooorrrrrr... You hold your breath, suck in and push out your tummy repetitively. It tulias a while. Just as discussions are resuming – njooooorrrrrrrrr.... You are getting increasingly uncomfortable. You add kazaring rasa kinyama to the list of countermeasures – njo,njooorrrrrrrr!!! My guy!!

When a cute dem is around - You be getting your mack on! Suit be tight, shoes polished, 1881 cerruti!!! She approaches your chair from behind, gently brushing against your shoulder with her bre[shut your mouth!], and asks you to show her something on your screen. Tumbo chekas kidogo and then: kwiii-njooorrrrrrr!!!! She suddenly has something else to do and exits quick… Demmit!!!

The Aftermath
Now, as if to add pilipili hoho to injury, there’s always the aftermath of kazaring your diabs. It results in swallowing. Depending on how important the meeting (or how cute the dem) was, you may have a swallow-partial or a swallow-wholesale.

The Remedy
Swallow-partial is easily dealt with. Stand up. Raise one heel, spread legs slightly as combination of index finger and thumb extricates swallowed ngotha from b*tt cheeks through trouser. There’s usually the accompanying slight sound: “siiaap”.

Things become a bit more complicated with swallow-wholesaleNgotha has been converted into a g-string (with no evidence that posterior back-cover ever existed). Jamaa is bila boxer-line when in traos-skintight. This one requires a visit to the loo to sort out! Enter loo, lock yourself ndani securely, unleash trao. Place left and right thumb under what is left visible of ngotha on top of left and right tanye respectively. Yank outwards in swift and strong motion! Don’t be surprised if you hear the sound of a suction pump being released…

Whichever the case, tumbo’s work is done! You can almost hear it laughing again in the background…

And we wonder why guys get married??

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Starlet to Body, 60 MPH

Starlet to Body, 60 MPH (Mwenda Pole Hajikwai)

This is a story from my earlier days, the day I realised the perils of drinking!! It involves an old, innocent jogger, several watchmen, a childhood friend and one damsel I used to pursue with fervent diligence. Writer's note: Years before I met my Atoti-Alright, Kairetu-most-Lovely, Gachungwa-most-Dear; my soulmate.

The only reason I document this is to highlight the hazards of reckless drinking and driving. The light-hearted content is by no means meant to downplay the gravity of the incident and the remorse thereafter.

Dawn to Dusk, Dusk till Dawn

It was a typical Saturday, the weekly routine was established; repeated piously, severally and religiously:
  • 1100hrs: Milonare in Boom-twiff-Mobile (B-t-M) picks G Heezaho
  • 1200hrs: Milonare and aforementioned G Heezaho outside Caltex Starmart
  • 1205hrs: M&G seated on pavement contributing to KBL's supernormal profits
  • 1206hrs: Xplod, tweeters etc unleash the spoils of piracy to ears near and far
  • 1400hrs: Refer to 1205hrs and 1206hrs
  • 1400hrs: M&G merrily singing along to Boom-twiff-Mobile, not a care in the world
  • 1500hrs: Refer to 1205hrs, 1206hrs and 1400hrs
  • 1501hrs: Need to shift base discussed in loud, slurring speech
  • 1502hrs: Xplod, tweeters etc unleash silence to ears near and far
  • 1503hrs: Need to push B-t-M discussed in even louder, more slurred speech
  • 1515hrs: B-t-M engine purring like a cat
  • 1516hrs: Refer to 1206hrs and 1400hrs. B-t-M enroute to next location.

Midnight - JKays

Things are reaching fever pitch, KBL and UDV products are being amalgamated to further heighten euphoria! Spot damsel with her friends: long on primping and preening, short on body cover... Saunter towards ladies in motion somewhere between a bounce and a stagger... Stupidity begins...

6 in da mornin

Hours later (wallet-battered) damsel and friend need a ride home. G Heezaho has disappeared from sight, livin' up to his name!

  • Milonare home to Damsel home = 5km
  • JKays to Milonare home = 2km
  • JKays to Damsel's friend's home = 34km!! D*mn!

30 minutes later (odometer := odometer + 34km) motion towards Damsel's home begins. Attempts to remain awake with window open, wind on face, thwarted by Damsel's request for heater in car (given the prior mentioned deficit in body cover).

Another 32 minutes later (odometer := ...) Baba damsel wakes up both M&D as both fell fast asleep on arrival at the gate and hooting.

Mzee, pole sana!

Trip back home a blur. Realisation of slumber while driving on

  • Sound of sickening thud
  • Opened eyes viewing pink thigh on windscreen
  • Unhindered access of wind to face thru now open windscreen
  • Sound of body on car-roof
  • Sight of body to ground on rear-view mirror


  • Car lost control when driver fell asleep
  • Car veered to right of road
  • Innocent jogger on right of road knocked by car
  • Innocent jogger was 56 years old

Kusema kweli, ningeenda!

Attempt was made to drive back to scene and assist innocent victim. Gang of watchmen trekking back home from a hard night's work ominously approach vehicle attempting to open doors. Car driven off and U-turned from safe distance. Window opened as gang surrounding victim was being approached. Attempt made to shout at gang to follow car to nearby police station. Shout interrupted by various gang-to-car, hand-to-body, stone-to-head-and-torso missiles amidst choir-like chants of Ua! Chinja! Choma!

One of missiles hits target, sharp pain at back of head and warm, wet liquid gushes down neck.

The long and short of the story is:

  • victim miraculously survived with only a few cuts on legs and hands!!
  • driver charged with reckless driving - 12 stitches later
  • charges eventually dropped as expatriate victim fled country in fear of life
  • extremely lucky driver changed drinking ways
  • extremely lucky driver still full of remorse...

Someone up there likes me!!

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Whitewater Rafting on the NILE

Whitewater Rafting on the NILE (Never In my Life again - Ever!!)

Four years ago kind regards (KR) yours truly(YT) was on assignment in Uganda. After a week of work in Kampala, it was off to Jinja for 3 weeks. It was a joy to actually get to see the source of the Nile!
The work team included a number of Kenyans and S Africans. The latter, being inclined to affairs more nature-based than brew-based, suggested a Whitewater rafting session one weekend. Not to be cowed, YT and a Kenyan colleague agreed to participate.

We were driven to some jungle offices to register for the ordeal excursion. I should have known from the name which was something like UDW&GF(U Danno Watcherwent & Gochacel Fintu) that there was trouble ahead! They were quick to accept our USD 60+ payment and even quicker to get us to sign the disclaimer which read:

I, YT, being completely out of my mind of sound mind and stark-raving mad in full control of all my senses do hereby agree to forfeit all my rights and absolve UDW&GF of any responsibility whatsoever for injuries to body, emotions and mind, up to and including death, from this day forth, forever and ever, till the grim reaper or expiry of USD 60+ us do part - whichever is the later.

Off we went on a truck to the riverbank excited to begin! The preparation basically involved a ride on a raft, lifejacket on, with a number of jumps into the water and the subsequent attempts to get back onto the raft. Boy, it wasn't easy! And I had thought myself to be one of reasonable upper body strength...

Little did we know that this practice session would render us as prepared (for what was in store) as reading a "mills and boon" prepares one for relationships!

Rapids here we come!!
Then it was time to go... The concept is basically to steer the raft over a series of rapids (read waterfalls) for a given point of calm, A, to a given point of calm, B, downriver - A and B usually being around 5-8 rapids apart. As far as possible, the raft should not capsize. In the unfortunate event that it does, tactics practised above were to be used to get back onto raft.
Each raft has a length of rope encircling its perimeter that raft occupants can cling onto for dear life as the raft careens through the air from top of waterfall to bottom of waterfall.

Row, row, row, clutch
Instructions were to row the raft towards the rapids using provided paddles. On reaching the rapid, occupants (in a swift motion) were then to place paddles on raft base, clutch rope and enjoy the ride. What initially began as a row, row, row, clutch (r,r,r,c) sequence for all, ended up as a (r,r,r,c) and (r,c,c,c) sequences for S Africans and Kenyans respectively. Come to think of it, at some point things deteriorated to a (c,c,c,c) sequence in favour of certain E African natives.

Key points thereon
Of 7 rapids, our raft capsized 7 times! On the 1st capsize, in true swimming style, I held my breath under water, waited to get to surface be4 taking my deep breath. Open mouth and nostrils were met with rapids-water that was soon introduced to epiglottis and lungs. Man wasn't built to breathe underwater! I thought I was dying! Suffice to say:

  • I'm glad we were in water, the h20 camouflaged my tears
  • I'm glad the rapids were noisy, this camouflaged my cries/screaming
  • We stopped by some riverbank midway for lunch, Kenyans almost hid in the riverbank bushes hoping raft would leave them behind. Thoughts that quickly changed on mention of leopards and lions patrolling aforesaid bushes...
  • (c,c,c,c) became (clutch,cry,cry,clutch)
Tuendelee ama tusiendelee
In some funny freak of nature, there was a certain means of navigating the raft to glide back upstream and re-enter the rapid. Our guide?/driver?/captain?/kubaff?/coxswain? from UDW&GF would ask whether we wanted to try a rapid again. Each time SA would answer Yes! KE would answer No! SA outnumbered KE. Each time democracy prevailed. Tears were shed... In reality, of 7 rapids, each was ridden at least twice and raft capsized at least 14 times...

Post-rapid analysis
A certain occupant had the audacity to ask me if a saw some site during the 3 hour ordeal. Dude! I was busy trying to survive (fight for my life)!!! I had no time for tourism/site-watching!!!

My guy, the day Milonare whitewater rafts again... Boss! Never!

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Shopping at NAKMAT

Shopping at NAKMAT (NAni Kama Mimi - AToti!)

It starts at the car park…
It would be easier for a camel’s hump to pass through the eye of a needle than for you to find a parking anywhere near the supermarket. You chug past the myriad of occupied parking spaces getting further and further away from the entrance sign. Car is on gear two hoping that fuel consumption will be less – our oil companies’ wahenga wamenenawhat goes up can’t come down” as far as the petrol prices are concerned. It’s not surprising though; given that the land is led by a turgid-bellied, flaccid-minded group who, as a good friend from Zim mentioned, mouth yesterday’s slogans while preserving tomorrow’s pensions!

Niaje beshte?
A VCD/Tape/fake-DVD vendor, notorious for screen entertainment unavailable from E-PSOD, spots your car and eagerly rushes forward. Given the occupant of your passenger seat, you attempt to interrupt him mid-sentence as he shouts “Sema boss, umerudi? Nikuletee kama kawai…” You unconvincingly try to dismiss the incident claiming that you’ve never purchased anything from Mwash him or his ilk. “You lied to me, when you said you’d never…” is blaring on Kiss FM. Mark Morrison at his best! You finally get a parking, having cut in front of an old lady in a small car with an “L” sign displayed for all to view. As you disembark and walk past her car, you notice her inhaler, clamped-to-mouth with one hand, as she uses the other to give you the finger. You proceed, undeterred.

Entry into Nakmat
You reach for the trolley but the business-card-filled wallet dictates otherwise. Hand is re-directed to a basket. You begin to search for your items. The attendants are as helpful as a swimming pool - to a person suffering from the flu - in winter. Then begins the process of mentally tallying your bill as items are picked from the various stands: 7+8+6+5+7 = 3 carry 2, 2+3+etc

At the cash till
You look beady eyed as the ever-rising cash total at the till increases disproportionately to the offloading of items from your basket. As the total gets nearer and nearer to your Cash-in-Hand (not too different in value from your Cash-at-Bank, for Balance Sheet lovers) your reaction varies depending on the day of the week:
(a) Weekdays – tie is loosened and collar unbuttoned. Chin is raised as index finger is used to tug collar away from neck…
(b) Weekends – index finger and thumb used to tug ear-lobe. The same metacarpals are used to stroke chin…
Whichever the case, the room temperature seems to have increased several notches!

All crossables are crossed – metacarpals, metatarsals… Alas! Total bypasses C-i-H mentioned above. It suddenly dawns on you that you carried 2 instead of 3 in your mental arithmetic. Haya! Kimeumana! You look for the one item without a price tag and claim that the price on the stand was different from what the cashier has punched in. She reminds you that all she did was to swipe a bar code. You insist and your suddenly varicose-venated temples become testament to your growing angerthe best defence is an offence! Your causing a scene begins to attract the attention of others much to your dismay. You need to turn the situation around, quick! Cashier removes item bila price tag from the tally. You are still 30 bob short! The shame, the shame!!

Serious times call for serious action
Trump card of the last resort needs to be played. You decide not to pay cash given the ((total bill) – (cash-in-hand) = 30 bob) discrepancy. You unleash the debit card, your smiling picture thereupon similar to the facial expression of your bank manager when he looks at your bank statement and compares it to your title at work.

Like clockwork, the debit card is rejected, you feign total dissatisfaction with the establishment and promptly leave, minus selected items, vowing never to return!

Writer’s note: Imagine you forgot your debit card at home in the situation above…

It ends at the car park
You arrive at your car to find that the aforementioned old lady has double parked behind you! She hobbles over 45 minutes later, trolley laden with shopping goodies. Taking her time, she lets the attendant load the stuff into her car and tips him 30 bob. She then enters the car, takes three massive breath-swigs from the inhaler and shows you the finger, in her rear-view mirror, as she drives off!

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Jacked at SOUTH B

Jacked at SOUTH B (Surely! One Usually Thinks He's ok B4...)

Go with your instincts!

I arrived home from an out-of-town, only-get-to-do-these-on-employer-tab, maximise-per-diem-minimize-expenditure type-thingy (breathe in, breathe out, inhale, exhale...). Haven't seen ka-sweetie in three days! Want to see her but I know she can't leave the house. Need quality time so I decide to settle for Michael-Joseph time with option of QT, face-to-face, body warmth to body warmth meeting in the morrow. Sweet voice on other side of cell seems understanding... Call up usual drink buddy G Heezaho. Agree to meet at Ice-cream by day, keroro by night joint in Westlands. On the way there, guilt takes control and boom-twiff mobile is redirected towards South B.

Supfull for Life

Arrive at gate 2000hrs kasa robo. Looking lovely as ever, better half (by far) opens gate.


  • Supu: "Hi Sweets!" Mmwa! Mmwa! "How was the trip? Want to come in?"
  • Yours sincerely truly: "Trip was great darling! Whose inside?"
  • Supu: "Just Guka and Cucu. Come say hi..."
  • YT: "Em... No sweetie... Can't... Was just passing by to say hi. Free tomorrow?"
  • Supu: "Just enter for a minute..."
  • Conversation interrupted by SMS coming through. Heezaho checking to see where YT is.
  • YT looks up from phone to continue conversation only for...
  • Third party: "Unajua hi nini?" - brandishing magnum colt, AK42-thru-to-7, version 2.0, with powerfoam

Downhill from there!

The next ten-twenty minutes comprised YT's involvement in a low-budget, poorly acted, crime story. Boom-twiff mobile is a 3-door. YT is 6 something (zero I think!) When third party requests YT to move to back of car, there's no time to: open door, step out, shift chair forward, step in, shift chair back. Somehow, abracadabra, I find myself in back seat. (Have since tried same manoeuvre repeatedly and failed.) Third party (3rd) happens to have brought two friends along so they are a party of three... Touche... 3rd joins YT at back as 4th takes passenger seat and 5th, driver's.

Then begins unsteady drive to nearby Slumville as 3rd indulges himself in ten-minute free-shopping spree at YT supermarket, InCar branch, open 24-7! On special offer are a Nokia x210, SonyXplod car stereo (plus dangling wires), attached diskman, CD therein with latest ragga and 3k kenya shillings, cash money, bob!

Request for return of sim card elicits "Nitakugonga kichwa na mak*nd*!" response to which YT becomes a certified mute. From in-car 3rd party discussions I picked up his name to be Chip Kruk...

Now you see me, now you don't!

Arrival in the Slumville environs is swiftly followed by 3rd, 4th and 5th exiting boom-twiff. Doors ajar, engine running, YT collects himself from back of car. Recent passengers blend in with various parties walking the street, like sugar in a hot cup of tea!


YT then drives back to the House of Supu and borrows some 2k. He rushes off to join G Heezaho. That's the most deserved drink he's had in ages!!